The English Poets, Volume 2Thomas Humphry Ward Macmillan, 1880 - English poetry |
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Page 2
... fear , have taken him at his word . His fame as a dramatist — on which his general fame will always essentially depend — must therefore remain within the keeping of those who are ' sealed of the tribe of Ben ' ; but of these the ...
... fear , have taken him at his word . His fame as a dramatist — on which his general fame will always essentially depend — must therefore remain within the keeping of those who are ' sealed of the tribe of Ben ' ; but of these the ...
Page 5
... , and constantly recurs to the commonplace but wholesome maxim that it is the He has been credited ( but erroneously ) with the authorship of the National Anthem . love , not the fear , of his subjects upon BEN JONSON . 5.
... , and constantly recurs to the commonplace but wholesome maxim that it is the He has been credited ( but erroneously ) with the authorship of the National Anthem . love , not the fear , of his subjects upon BEN JONSON . 5.
Page 6
Thomas Humphry Ward. love , not the fear , of his subjects upon which a monarch ought to rely . But Jonson's satirical epigrams are both less effective and less elaborate than those of a directly opposite tendency . Few of our Jacobean ...
Thomas Humphry Ward. love , not the fear , of his subjects upon which a monarch ought to rely . But Jonson's satirical epigrams are both less effective and less elaborate than those of a directly opposite tendency . Few of our Jacobean ...
Page 22
... fears Whereof the loyal conscience so complains . Thus , by these subtle trains Do several passions invade the mind , And strike our reason blind . TO HEAVEN . [ From The Forest . ] Good and great God ! can I not think of Thee , But it ...
... fears Whereof the loyal conscience so complains . Thus , by these subtle trains Do several passions invade the mind , And strike our reason blind . TO HEAVEN . [ From The Forest . ] Good and great God ! can I not think of Thee , But it ...
Page 23
... fear , and must with horror fall , And destined unto judgment , after all . I feel my griefs too , and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t ' inflict another wound ; -- Yet dare I not complain or wish for death , With holy Paul , lest ...
... fear , and must with horror fall , And destined unto judgment , after all . I feel my griefs too , and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t ' inflict another wound ; -- Yet dare I not complain or wish for death , With holy Paul , lest ...
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Common terms and phrases
Absalom and Achitophel Æneid beauty Ben Jonson born breast breath bright Carew Castara Comus conceits Cowley crown death delight died divine dost doth Dryden earth EDMUND W English English poetry eternal eyes fair fame fancy fate fear fire flame flowers Giles Fletcher glory Gondibert grace hand happy hast hath heart heaven hell Herbert Herrick Hesperides hill honour Hudibras Inner Temple Jonson King Lady light live Lord lost Lycidas Milton mind mistress Muse nature never night o'er once Paradise Paradise Lost Paradise Regained passion Perilla Pindar pleasure poems poet poetic poetry praise reign rose sacred shade shalt shepherds shine sighs sight sing sleep song sonnet soul spirit stars sweet tears thee thine things thou thought tree verse Waller wanton weep winds wings write youth
Popular passages
Page 14 - DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup, And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.
Page 337 - He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round, Behind him cast. The broad circumference Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views At evening, from the top of Fesole, Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe.
Page 218 - The glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate ; Death lays his icy hand on kings : Sceptre and crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade.
Page 178 - Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?
Page 218 - Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield ; They tame but one another still : Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, poor captives, creep to death.
Page 454 - Of these the false Achitophel was first, A name to all succeeding ages curst: For close designs and crooked counsels fit, Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit; Restless, unfixed in principles and place, In power unpleased, impatient of disgrace ; A fiery soul, which working out its way, Fretted the pigmy body to decay, And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.
Page 311 - And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, As thick and numberless As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams, The fickle pensioners of Morpheus
Page 357 - The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, Led on the eternal spring.
Page 301 - I am now indebted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar amourist, or the trencher fury of a rhyming parasite ; nor to be obtained by the invocation of dame Memory and her siren daughters ; but by devout prayer to that eternal spirit, who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and sends out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases...
Page 20 - And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all; thy Art, My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part.